


"i'm gonna be your bruise,"

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: I am so sorry, M/M, a n g s t, allison is mentioned a lot, also this is in second person, and malia, but never explicitly mentioned or interacted with, but not as like "scott is bad ew kill him", but there is a glimmer of hope, i dont know why, idk - Freeform, ill come back to this eventually, it just ends sad, so for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 18:03:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10541697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It becomes a pattern, sneak out, sneak in, sneak out, sneak in. It doesn’t stop until you meet Allison who looks like the embodiment of those, "someone loves you" signs you see everyday





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is a mess, i am a mess, but here look!! more angst and i wish i was sorry
> 
> the title is from The Word Of Your Body from the musical Spring Awakening (what the fuck is that musical tho)

It’s late, but he’s sitting so close, looking at the sky and making up constellations, “Look, listen, all I’m saying is that that little cluster of stars,” he’s gesturing so wildly that you nearly drop the container of fries in your fingers and you’re snorting when he says, “It’s just, it looks like a giant sack of rubber balls, so it should be called, Sack of Rubber Balls.” And he looks so proud of himself that you nod along and roll your eyes. He glances at you and you almost feel like you’re the one who put the moon in the sky, but all that you manage is, “It’s late, we have class in the morning.” And you pretend not to notice his hand clench and his chest deflate as you stand up and hold your hand out to him, but you notice, and you think you’ll always notice everything about him; from the curve of his nose, to the moles on his cheeks.  

You’re looking at him so intently you nearly miss the look of awe that strikes his face when he says, “If there is a life outside of this one, I think I’m gonna be with you there, too.” And you feel your lungs tighten because this, in front of you, smiling at you with all his teeth, with his sweatshirt strings chewed on and frayed, is what happiness is. it’s Stiles, with salt and ketchup on the side of his mouth, it’s your shoulder’s brushing and your fingers touching.  

The sun’s coming up now and it’s causing your eyes to water, but you’re too afraid to close your eyes or look away because if this is a dream, you’d rather sleep forever. 

When he stands up and stretches you take that as your queue to stand and start picking up all the wrappers and ketchup packets Stiles carelessly threw on the ground, you feel a frown form when Stiles says, carelessly, "just leave 'em, Scotty boy! someone else will get them." And you stare at him until he finally caves and starts to mutter about how you're too much of a fucking goody good, and you just smile, to pleased with yourself to argue with him. 

* 

It becomes a pattern, sneak out, sneak in, sneak out, sneak in. It doesn’t stop until you meet Allison who looks like the embodiment of those, "someone loves you" signs you see everyday on the highway on your way to Deaton's or to school. Allison who smells like flowers and fresh cotton, who laughs softly and behind her hands. Allison, Allison, Allison is all you can think about for almost an entire year. You don't mean, god knows you didn't, but you forget about the weekly meetings out on the hill and you think it’s because he stops mentioning them to you. But that thought makes you sick to your stomach because it's not his fault and it's not all yours, either.  

The first time she kisses you is at a party Stiles dragged you too and you felt your entire mouth dry out and your hands are shaking when you grip her hips to pull her closer. Stiles laughs at you when he sees Allison's face pull away from yours in a grimace, it makes your heart thump.  

It goes smoothly, you meet her parents and they like you, her dad only threatens you once. Allison even accept that Stiles is a package deal, because usually where you are, he's there too. You like it, the pattern you set up between her and Stiles who says it's like a joint custody battle of who gets time with you, she snorts and you shrug. It works. 

Until Malia happens and then Stiles is almost too scarce for your liking. When he's available it feels forced and Stiles promises that, "It's just, I've never had a girl like me. It's nice," and you think he might say more but Malia walks up to you both and you feel green all over.  

Things are good, and then Allison moves to France and Malia decides to go off to wherever the fuck and you're bitter because things were good until Malia, but maybe they weren't. You can't figure out when it went sour.  

It's harder now, getting Stiles alone and him getting you alone because you both can feel the underlying words of, "I think I love you."

 * 

And he’s begging you, not in as many words, but he’s pleading, “Pick me,” over and over with every single blink of his amber eyes and it’s making you sick, but you keep smiling at him and talking, vomiting all your words out of your mouth until you think you taste stomach acid on your tongue. He licks his lips you’re watching pink move on pink and you start to wonder what his mouth tastes like; cherry sundaes or chlorine, maybe grease and cotton candy.  

He’s still looking at you, but his eyes are somewhere else as he chews on his lips absent minded until they’re puffy and cherry red. You open your mouth to talk, but he beats you to it, rushing out, “Pick me, it always ends with you and me,“ he’s looking at you, and he finishes, "it’s always us at the end of the day. So pick me, I’m begging you, pick me.” 

You blink at him and blink and blink and blink until you hear in the back of your head, little thirteen year old you saying, “M’gonna marry you, so no one else can hold your hand, I think.” And he’s looking at you so earnestly that you want to touch his cheek and tell yes, yes it’s him, it’ll always be him but all you can say is, “I’m sorry, Stiles.” 

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr @dxrtyface
> 
> pls do mention the * in place of actual time skips, im tired and in mourning and this helped me cope somewhat


End file.
